Read Online Farewell Summer by Ray Bradbury - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Ray Bradbury
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cake.
“Good morning, Mr. Cal,” said the cook.
The cake stood like a magnificent Alp upon the kitchen table. To the odors of morning were added the smells of snow upon a white mountain, the aroma of frosted blossoms and candied roses, of petal pink candles and translucent icing. There it was, like a distant hill in a dream of the future, the cake as white as noon clouds, the cake in the shape of collected years, each candle ready for the lighting and blowing out.
“That,” he whispered, “oh, my God, that will do it! Take it down to the ravine. Get.”
The housekeeper and the gardener picked up the white mountain. The cook led the way, opening the door.
They carried it out the door and down the porch and across the garden.
Who could resist a sweet thing like that, a dream? thought
Quartermain.
“Watch it! ”
The housekeeper slipped on the dew-wet grass.
Quartermain shut his eyes.
“No, God, no!”
When he opened his eyes again, the servants were still marching steadily, perspiring, down the hill, into the green ravine, toward the clear waters, under the high cool shadowy trees, toward the birthday table.
“Thank you,” murmured Quartermain, and added, “God.”
Below, in the ravine, the cake was set upon the table, and it was white and it glowed and it was perfect.
CHAPTER THIRTY
“There,” said Mother, fixing his tie.
“Who cares about a darn girl’s birthday party?” said Douglas. “It sounds awful.”
“If Quartermain can go to all the trouble to have a cake made for Lisabell, you can take an hour and go. Especially since he sent invitations. Be polite is all I ask.”
“Come on, Doug, aw come on!” cried Tom, from the front porch.
“Hold your horses! Here I go.”
And the screen door slammed and he was in the street and he and Tom were walking in the fresh day.
“Boy,” whispered Tom, smiling, “I’m gonna eat till I get sick.”
“There’s a deep and dire plot in here somewhere,” said Douglas. “How come all of a sudden Quarter-main isn’t making a commotion? How come, just like that, he’s all smiles?”
“I never in my life,” said Tom, “argued with a piece of cake or a bowl of ice cream.”
Halfway down the block they were joined by Charlie, who fell into step beside them and looked like he was going to a funeral.
“Hey, this tie’s killing me.” Charlie walked with them in a solemn line.
Moments later they were joined by Will and the others.
“As soon as the party’s over, let’s all go skinny-dipping out at Apple Crick. Might be our last chance before it gets too cold. Summer’s gone.”
Doug said, “Am I the only one who thinks there’s somethin’ fishy goin’ on here? I mean, why’s old man Quartermain giving Lisabell a birthday party? Why’d He invite us ? I smell a rat, fellas. ”
Charlie tugged at his tie and said, “I hate to say this, Doug, but it looks like any day now, whatever’s left of our war ain’t going to be nothing. There doesn’t seem to be any reason to fight them anymore.”
“I don’t know, Charlie. Something just doesn’t add up.”
They came to the ravine and stopped.
“Well, here we are,” said Douglas. “Keep your eyes peeled. If I give the word, break and scatter. You fellas go ahead,” said Douglas. “I’ll be down in a minute. I’ve got some strategizing to do.”
Reluctantly they left him and started down the hill. After they had gone a hundred feet they began to shuffle and then lope, and then run, yelling. They pulled up below, by the tables, and from a distance, here and there through the ravine, like white birds skimming the grass, came the girls, running too, all gathered in one place, and there was Calvin C. Quartermain, reeling down the pathway in a wheelchair, calling out in a high and cheerful voice.
“Hell,” said Douglas, standing back alone. “I mean, heck.”
The children gathered, shoving and pushing and laughing. Seen from a distance they were like little figures on a
“Good morning, Mr. Cal,” said the cook.
The cake stood like a magnificent Alp upon the kitchen table. To the odors of morning were added the smells of snow upon a white mountain, the aroma of frosted blossoms and candied roses, of petal pink candles and translucent icing. There it was, like a distant hill in a dream of the future, the cake as white as noon clouds, the cake in the shape of collected years, each candle ready for the lighting and blowing out.
“That,” he whispered, “oh, my God, that will do it! Take it down to the ravine. Get.”
The housekeeper and the gardener picked up the white mountain. The cook led the way, opening the door.
They carried it out the door and down the porch and across the garden.
Who could resist a sweet thing like that, a dream? thought
Quartermain.
“Watch it! ”
The housekeeper slipped on the dew-wet grass.
Quartermain shut his eyes.
“No, God, no!”
When he opened his eyes again, the servants were still marching steadily, perspiring, down the hill, into the green ravine, toward the clear waters, under the high cool shadowy trees, toward the birthday table.
“Thank you,” murmured Quartermain, and added, “God.”
Below, in the ravine, the cake was set upon the table, and it was white and it glowed and it was perfect.
CHAPTER THIRTY
“There,” said Mother, fixing his tie.
“Who cares about a darn girl’s birthday party?” said Douglas. “It sounds awful.”
“If Quartermain can go to all the trouble to have a cake made for Lisabell, you can take an hour and go. Especially since he sent invitations. Be polite is all I ask.”
“Come on, Doug, aw come on!” cried Tom, from the front porch.
“Hold your horses! Here I go.”
And the screen door slammed and he was in the street and he and Tom were walking in the fresh day.
“Boy,” whispered Tom, smiling, “I’m gonna eat till I get sick.”
“There’s a deep and dire plot in here somewhere,” said Douglas. “How come all of a sudden Quarter-main isn’t making a commotion? How come, just like that, he’s all smiles?”
“I never in my life,” said Tom, “argued with a piece of cake or a bowl of ice cream.”
Halfway down the block they were joined by Charlie, who fell into step beside them and looked like he was going to a funeral.
“Hey, this tie’s killing me.” Charlie walked with them in a solemn line.
Moments later they were joined by Will and the others.
“As soon as the party’s over, let’s all go skinny-dipping out at Apple Crick. Might be our last chance before it gets too cold. Summer’s gone.”
Doug said, “Am I the only one who thinks there’s somethin’ fishy goin’ on here? I mean, why’s old man Quartermain giving Lisabell a birthday party? Why’d He invite us ? I smell a rat, fellas. ”
Charlie tugged at his tie and said, “I hate to say this, Doug, but it looks like any day now, whatever’s left of our war ain’t going to be nothing. There doesn’t seem to be any reason to fight them anymore.”
“I don’t know, Charlie. Something just doesn’t add up.”
They came to the ravine and stopped.
“Well, here we are,” said Douglas. “Keep your eyes peeled. If I give the word, break and scatter. You fellas go ahead,” said Douglas. “I’ll be down in a minute. I’ve got some strategizing to do.”
Reluctantly they left him and started down the hill. After they had gone a hundred feet they began to shuffle and then lope, and then run, yelling. They pulled up below, by the tables, and from a distance, here and there through the ravine, like white birds skimming the grass, came the girls, running too, all gathered in one place, and there was Calvin C. Quartermain, reeling down the pathway in a wheelchair, calling out in a high and cheerful voice.
“Hell,” said Douglas, standing back alone. “I mean, heck.”
The children gathered, shoving and pushing and laughing. Seen from a distance they were like little figures on a
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